


Bound

by KristenRoth



Category: Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins Movies), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12775050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristenRoth/pseuds/KristenRoth





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue  
It was insanity.

Less than an hour ago, she was relatively relaxed - actually enjoying her vacation. Unbelievably, she now found herself standing here in a narrow alleyway, behind one of the lesser churches of Florence, contemplating an act that anyone else would dismiss as suicide.

“There’s no time to analyze this, Starling,” She told herself. “If you’re going to do this, just do it – it’s now or never.”

With no further thought, she darted forward, and with one quick motion, closed the handcuff around Hannibal Lecter’s wrist. She registered the metallic snap of it locking into place just as she closed its mate around her own.

Chapter 1:

“Would you care to explain this, Agent Starling?”

She glanced down at the rag that her section chief had just tossed onto his desk in front of her. It was a copy of the Tattler with a photo of her on its front page. She didn’t even bother to read the headline. The picture was enough. She and two other agents were trying to get a handcuffed prisoner into the back of a van. The photographer had been lucky. He had managed to snap the picture just as the butt of her rifle made contact with the back of the prisoner’s head. The angle of the photo obscured the fact that his teeth were viciously clamped down on one of the other officer’s forearms.

She raised her eyes to meet those glaring at her from across the desk.

“You’ve read my report, Sir. I’m not sure what else you want me to say.”

“Do you enjoy the attentions of the press, Agent Starling?”

“No, Sir, I don’t... but I seem doomed to suffer them anyway.”

“Starling, what in God’s name possessed you to assault a handcuffed prisoner?”

“Handcuffs or no, a fellow officer was under attack, Sir. The prisoner had drawn blood and was unwilling to release Agent Johnson’s arm. I saw no other immediate options available.”

She saw his jaw clench and registered the storm clouds gathering in his eyes. She was too calm for his taste, she knew. He read it as a sign of disrespect. Before she could make a decision about whether or not to attempt contrition, he spoke.

“It seems you have a knack for drawing the biters, Starling.”

Obviously, Crawford wasn’t the only one who saw her as tainted. Anger flashed in her eyes, but she held her tongue for several moments until she could trust herself to speak. When she did, the strain of control was evident in her voice.

“Was that necessary... Sir?”

He disregarded the question.

“Agent Starling, are you determined to be an embarrassment to the FBI?”

“No, Sir.” The quiet rage in her voice was barely controlled at this point. There had never been any love lost here, but it was fast becoming a struggle for mere civility.

“You’re a loose cannon, Starling. I’d like nothing more than to bring you up on charges for this little stunt... but given the statements of your fellow officers, it would be a waste of my time.” The disappointment in his tone was surprisingly sincere.

She made no attempt at reply, merely sat stoically, waiting for the next blow. She understood that he found her composure in the face of his displeasure unsettling, and she had to work to keep the smirk from crossing her lips.

“Jesus, Starling! Did you have to use the butt of your fucking rifle?”

“Well, Sir...” she began. Don’t do it, Starling! “... sometimes those biters require unorthodox methods.” She smiled sweetly, watching the color rise in his face, and felt deeply satisfied with herself in spite of the cost.

“Get out, Starling!” he sputtered. “Get out of my office and get out of this building. As of this minute, you are taking every last hour of leave time you have accumulated. I don’t want to see your face in these halls for the next 5 weeks. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, Sir.” She said it sweetly enough, but through clenched teeth. She rose and started for the door.

“Starling.”

She turned, her hand on the doorknob, the merest hint of a defiant gleam in her eyes.

“Yes, Sir?”

“It will give me no end of pleasure to have your badge someday, Agent Starling.”

She blinked calmly, then turned, opened the door and left without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

When had she decided to take advantage of this little forced vacation? She would have been reluctant to admit it, but she had called the travel agent almost immediately after hanging up the phone from speaking with Jack Crawford.

He had started the conversation with, “Hello, Starling. I understand you ran into some trouble again.” Her past 5 years with the Bureau had seemed like little but trouble, and she resented the acknowledgment of her unfortunate reputation by her would-be mentor.

Clarice Starling was not a woman who avoided taking responsibility for her own choices, but she couldn’t help but feel that Crawford deserved at least some small portion of the blame for the train wreck that she called her career. After her graduation from the FBI Academy, Jack Crawford could have easily pulled the necessary strings to have her assigned to Behavioral Science. It was certainly uncommon for a fledgling agent to be assigned to Crawford’s department, but her training had been uncommon as well, and she had more than proven herself. Her initial reaction to his failure to request her assignment was surprise and disappointment. The anger and resentment had come later – when she discovered his reason.

“You’re not ready, Starling. You handled yourself fine with Buffalo Bill, but Lecter got to you.”

He went on with a long discussion of her need for more experience, telling her expansively that it was no shame to be thrown by Lecter. Agents with far more experience than she had were unable to handle dealing with the Doctor’s head games... blah, blah, blah. At some point, she realized that this little run at rationalization was more to assuage his own guilt than to benefit her. He had not yet bought the bill of goods that he was working so hard to sell her.

The truth of the matter was that she was not thrown by Lecter – and that frightened Crawford far more than he was willing to admit. He didn’t want her in Behavioral Science because she had managed to make a connection, albeit tenuous, with Hannibal the Cannibal. In Crawford’s eyes, that particular achievement damaged her somehow... she was contaminated. She had done her job too well.

Jack Crawford had sacrificed her career to catch his man. She didn’t realize it at the time, but she should have felt grateful that it was only her career. The last time Crawford had sacrificed a protégé, it had been Will Graham. Graham had lost far more than his career to Crawford’s agenda. Graham had lost everything... his family, his health, his sanity. He had only a rudimentary insight into Hannibal Lecter, but he also had Crawford’s trust and respect. She had gone farther, but hadn’t had the decency to be afraid of her ability to do so.

For this transgression, she had been left to make her way in the Bureau with no real hope of ever getting the assignment she most wanted. Her fellow agents – and most of her superiors – seemed spooked by her association with Lecter. Or perhaps they were simply following Crawford’s lead... picking up on his fear of her somehow? She wasn’t sure anymore if she had been tainted by Lecter or by Crawford’s reluctance to accept her in the wake of Lecter’s influence. Ultimately it didn’t really matter... it all amounted to the same thing.

At some point early in the conversation with Crawford, she realized that he always seemed to be there whenever she had a run-in with her superiors – both in his “supportive” calls to her in the aftermath of whatever current unpleasantness had occurred and, more importantly, in the general atmosphere of wariness that had followed her through the bureau since graduation. She was in no mood for his peculiar brand of encouragement this time, and ended the call quickly, telling him that she had decided to take advantage of her temporary exile and had travel plans to make. The sputtering on his end when she told him she had wanted to see Florence for some time now was most particularly rewarding.

Had she really decided to go to Italy on the spur of the moment because she knew it would make Jack Crawford uneasy? No. There was a far more compelling reason than Crawford, but she swept it aside. If Crawfish and everyone else in the Bureau was determined to be spooked by her, then it was high time she did something to deserve it... at least that’s what she’d told herself at the time. It was a convenient excuse, and close enough to truth to allow her to believe it.


	3. Chapter 3

Florence was beautiful. It was easy to see why he was so taken with it.

She was staying at a small hotel situated on a hillside just out of the city proper. It had taken only a couple of days to get her bearings and develop something of a routine. For the past three days, she’d spent her mornings visiting museums and wandered over the city in the afternoons.

It was during one of these afternoon strolls that she spotted him. He was across the piazza from the small café where she was finishing her lunch. She thought at the time that he hadn’t seen her, but she wasn’t so sure by the time she caught up to him. She wasn’t even sure just who it was that had spotted whom. No, that was wrong. Lecter had obviously let her catch a glimpse of him and led her exactly where he wanted her to go. And she had followed dutifully. She’d hurried after him, just barely managing to keep him in sight as he led her to a less traveled section of the city.  
She’d had no idea what she would actually do once she caught up to him. Airline security being what it was these days, she had declined to bring her gun, not wanting to manage the paperwork required to carry it on board. She had only her badge and a spare pair of handcuffs that she’d tucked away in her purse and forgotten about until they set off the metal detector when she went through security at JFK. She’d had no business following Lecter at all. Quite simply, she should have contacted the local police and alerted the Bureau that Lecter was in Florence.

And yet, here she was. At some point she had realized that he must know she was there, that he was leading her somewhere out of the way... and still she had continued to follow. She had an image of a ship crashing into a rocky shore after following a siren’s call, but quickly shut it out before she could think about what she was doing. She ignored the obvious recklessness of this little game and followed. She’d already followed him to Florence, was this so really so much farther?

And now she knew where he had been leading her. Where he was leading was this church that appeared to be the only one in Florence not over-run with tourists. Why here she had no idea, but she was sure this had been his destination. This was where he had let her catch him, after all. He had stepped up to a door and was about to open it when she reached him... and now she was handcuffed to the FBI’s most wanted.

Be careful what you wish for, Starling.

She heard the distinctly unhelpful voice in her head and noted that this particular advice was about 5 years overdue.


	4. Chapter 4

"How very brave of you, Agent Starling.” Amusement danced in his deep maroon eyes as he went on. “I can’t easily call to mind anyone else who might wish to be handcuffed to me.”

She took a moment to catch her breath and then responded in a voice that sounded far stronger than she felt.

"I suspect that if you had wanted to kill me, Doctor, I would have been dead long before this.’

He chuckled softly, but said nothing.

“Besides...” she continued, a slight tremor creeping into her voice, “there are only so many ways to detain you, given that I’m unarmed at the moment.”

“Detain me? How very charming.” A pause. “And do you assume that I am unarmed as well, Clarice?”

“I don’t think it makes much difference, Dr. Lecter.” She was grateful that the tremor had left her voice for the moment, but knew that the Doctor could hear the slight strain. A smile played over his features as he regarded her.

“Of course. The unfortunate Dr. Chilton would have leapt at the opportunity to show you his... trophies.”

It had been obvious to her that Chilton’s discussion of the incident in the infirmary – complete with visual aids – preceded any visit with Lecter as surely as flight attendants are required to discuss the safety features of an aircraft. Dr. Lecter would almost certainly know that as well.

She swallowed, forcing down her fear at his reference to the nurse, and managed to hold his stare.

“I’ve seen the photograph, Doctor.” A pause. “Is that what you’d like to do to me?” Her tone was surprisingly calm.

He said nothing for a long moment, simply stood there staring at her with his impassive gaze, a slow smile spreading across his lips. With no warning, his arm flashed out and went around her waist, taking her own arm behind her back with it. He pulled her to him with surprising strength, his mouth coming dangerously close to hers. He spoke softly, but somehow she managed to hear the purr of his voice over the blood pounding in her ears.

“I think you know what I’d like to do to you, Clarice.”

She opened her mouth to speak but shut it again almost immediately. She had no idea how to respond to him even if, by some miracle, she could manage to find her voice. He continued to regard her with an amused air, but there was something else glinting in his dark eyes... Was it hunger?

His gaze fell from hers, and he watched the path of his hand as it trailed slowly down the length of her free arm. He did not speak until his eyes had once again risen to hers.

“I suspect we might like the same thing, My Dear.”

She suddenly found it a challenge to breathe. She had thought of this - guiltily. She’d even dreamed of this, but had managed to rationalize it. She had convinced herself that she’d somehow romanticized her encounters with Lecter as time passed... that she was nothing more than an amusement to him... that if she were to come face to face with him again, all she would see was a ruthless, cruel killer – not a man that she wanted beyond all reason. Yet here they were, and she found it impossible to deny that she did want him. It seemed that he might want her as well.

“Doctor...” Forming the single word was an effort. It came out with a breath she had to force from her lungs.

He tightened his grip slightly, pulling her just a fraction closer.

“I believe it’s time you use my name, Clarice.”

She couldn’t entirely keep the smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Hannibal.”

How many times had she whispered that name into the darkness? How many times had she called out for him in her dreams? She found herself leaning into him, her lips seeking his.

“I shouldn’t want you,” she murmured, a note of defeat in her voice... or was it surrender?

“Ah, but you do.” She felt his smile rather than saw it as his mouth covered hers.

Hannibal Lecter’s mouth... 

Shouldn’t she be terrified? She was well aware, at the very least, that she should be sickened at the mere suggestion of that mouth on hers. Yet her reaction to his kiss was far from either.

Hannibal Lecter’s mouth on hers produced a hunger that she hadn’t known she was capable of.

She heard herself moan as his tongue slipped between her lips, and was surprised to hear a low growl from him in response.

His kiss was exquisite. If she had been inclined to admit her attraction to Dr. Lecter before this, she would have expressed uncertainty about just how comfortable she would be when confronted with this mouth. She need not have been concerned. His tongue stroking hers, even his teeth nipping at her lips... these felt like the most natural things in the world. She was astounded at her own lack of fear.

She was peripherally aware of pain in her arm as he tightened his hold on her. It was bent firmly behind her back now, the muscles starting to cramp, but her discomfort seemed unimportant for the moment. Far more immediate was her body’s response to the Doctor’s more pleasurable attentions, the moist heat between her thighs.

If she needed further evidence that he wanted her, any doubt that she might have had vanished when his free hand went to her waist, pulling her against him. The proof of his desire for her was unmistakable.

Despite the delicious sensations of his mouth on hers, his free hand trailing down from her hip, her cramping muscles demanded her attention. She winced, straining against his hold on her.

“Is something wrong, Clarice?” His voice held more amusement than concern, dark eyes flashing almost unpleasantly as they searched hers.

“My arm...” she began softly, making a futile attempt to reposition it. He held her firmly as his eyes roamed over her face, relishing her discomfort. Fear began to creep in around the edges now, and he recognized it instantly. He wrapped his free arm around her, finally allowing her to maneuver herself into a more comfortable position.

"Come now, Clarice..." Lecter purred, amusement gleaming in his eyes, "... you aren't afraid of me?" He brought his mouth close to hers and his tongue slipped out to lick her lips.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure how to answer him.

"I was reminded of just how much you enjoy pain," she whispered finally.

His smile did nothing to reassure her.

"Pain and pleasure are not so far removed, My Dear."

His hand came up to fondle her breast. Her own, having no choice but to follow, curled around his wrist her grip tightening when he roughly pinched the nipple. A low moan escaped her, the sound of the Doctor’s throaty chuckle taking it’s place in the silence that followed. He brought his mouth to her ear, and she could feel the barest brush of his lips as he whispered, “Are you wet, Clarice?”

The wave of desire that washed over her literally left her weak.

“Doctor...”

His mouth was still at her ear as he spoke.

“That’s terribly formal, My Dear...” He paused to nuzzle her neck. “... particularly with a man you’re about to fuck.”

His hand had traveled down from her breast and he used it now to make sure that she was pressed firmly against him as he bit her just behind the ear. She turned her face to him, bringing her mouth close to his, aware of his breath on her lips.

“Do you plan to take me here in the alleyway, Doctor?” She was distressed to hear an urgency in her tone that did not go unnoticed by her companion.

“Mmm...” Sharp teeth nipped at her mouth. “I think not.”

He released her abruptly.

“Come with me, Clarice.”


	5. Chapter 5

Come with me?

Did she have a choice?

Of course not, you didn’t leave yourself a choice, Starling. You must not have wanted one.

She hesitated only a moment, then retrieved her bag and took a step forward. He held a door open for her and followed her into a narrow corridor, letting the door close behind them. Moving from the relatively open space of the tiny street to the shadows of such an... intimate area suddenly made her acutely aware that she was quite alone with Hannibal Lecter. This was both exciting and a bit unsettling.

“Doctor,” she began, “where exactly...”

He sighed and pulled her closer with a quick jerk of the cuffs. His free arm curled around her waist.

“I do wish you’d dispense with the formalities, Clarice. This is hardly the time.” 

His eyes flashed as he brought his mouth down to claim hers.

That mouth again. Was there anything she wouldn’t do to feel that mouth on her?

“Whatever you want,” she murmured against his lips, “... Hannibal.”

He pulled back from the kiss after another long moment and smiled at her.

“What a delightful invitation, My Dear.”

His eyes roamed over her, a wicked grin curling his lips in response to whatever mental image he had conjured. He let the silence stretch out, no doubt wanting to keep her off-balance. She didn’t care to acknowledge how easily he could do just that.

“What do you want, Doc...” She caught herself. “... Hannibal?”

“Mmm.”

He took her hand and almost reluctantly let his arm slip from around her waist as he turned to lead her along the corridor, the fingers of their bound hands laced together.

“All good things to those who wait,” she muttered under her breath.

His chuckle was a deep, rich sound that brought her an unexpected rush of pleasure.

You’re playing a dangerous game, Starling!

That damn voice again.

But he’s such a delightful playmate! The thought had come unbidden, surprising her utterly.

They emerged from the corridor into a relatively small (by Florentine standards) cathedral that was quite deserted.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen an empty church since I got here,” she remarked.

“Nor would this be any exception. Fortunately for us, this particular sanctuary is closed to the public at the moment.” He glanced over at the scaffolding extending the length of a wall.

“Refurbishment is a local constant, Clarice, the only variant being the location from one week to the next.”

The workmen had obviously gone for the afternoon. She was struck by how very quiet it was.

“We’re completely alone?” she whispered, noting the amusement in his dark eyes.

“Completely,” he agreed. He circled her, slowly moving behind her and wrapping his arm around her waist, her own curled back over her torso under his. “Does that please you, Clarice?” A pause. “Or does it frighten you?” His voice was a soft purr in her ear, the tone playful, inviting.

She felt herself tremble as his free hand trailed along her bare arm. He was waiting for her answer.

“It excites me,” she said finally, a slight strain in her voice from her efforts at control.

He chuckled quietly and nuzzled her hair aside as his lips brushed over the nape of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt his teeth on her skin and her eyes fluttered closed, her body tensing for only the briefest moment before relaxing into his.

“This is what you came for, isn’t it, Clarice?”

“Yes.”

It was one word, barely audible, but it sounded in her head like the shriek of an alarm. Was this truly what she had come to Florence hoping for? Had the last five, unhappy years of her life simply been killing time until she could have this... have him?

The truth of it awed her. Special Agent Clarice Starling of the F-B-I. It had defined her, and it had been a lie.


	6. Chapter 6

“I don’t believe I have your full attention, Agent Starling.”

She smiled. How did he always know what she was thinking?

“Agent Starling?” She leaned back, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder and offering him a mischievous smile. “This is hardly the time for formalities, Hannibal... particularly one so ill chosen.” 

“It was your choice, I believe.” Amusement danced in his eyes. “Have you come to regret it, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.” A beat. “It does seem lacking in the face of...” she paused again, searching for the proper phrasing, “... more recent opportunities.”

He smiled and pulled her closer.

“You should explore all of your options thoroughly, Clarice.” There was a glint in those maroon eyes that undercut her confidence. “You want to be certain you know what you’re getting yourself into.” His lips brushed across her jaw.

“Is this the place to start, do you think?” She tried to keep her tone light, but somehow fell short of her mark.

The rich sound of his laugh washed over her in the shadows.

“I can’t think of a better place, Clarice. What more appropriate setting for a fall from grace?”

Doubt flashed in her eyes and her body stiffened against him.

“And you were doing so well,” he sighed. “This vacillation is becoming tedious, My Dear.”

His hand moved from her waist to slip down across the light fabric of her skirt, grasping the hem and sliding it up along her thigh. His mouth moved to her ear.

“It’s time you accept what you want, Clarice.”

“I want you,” she whispered. And then determined not to concede so easily she added, “I should think that’s obvious.”

“So it is,” he growled, fingers brushing over the wet cotton of her panties. “Yet you seem baffled by it, nonetheless.”

“I don’t...”

She stopped, surprised to find that he was suddenly holding a knife in his free hand. She felt the back side of the thick blade against the base of her neck, felt the cold steel as it trailed down between her breasts.

“Do you understand exactly what it is you’re asking for, Clarice?”

She drew in a sharp breath.

“I think so.”

The tip of the blade slipped into her panties.

“And is it what you want?”

She hesitated. The knife’s edge was pointed away from her body, smooth steel rubbing against her. She felt him pressing into her from behind, heard the impatience in his whisper.

“Tell me.”

“Yes.”

She heard the fabric tear as the blade ripped through it and felt it fall around her ankles. A frantic need for him eclipsed all other thought.

“Be sure, Clarice.”

His teeth at the side of her neck, a trickle of blood running down across her collarbone. A low moan rushed out of her, and she pushed her hips back into him.

“Please!” It was all she could manage, but it was enough.

With one fluid motion, he grasped her wrists and turned slightly to the left. She found herself facing an ornate column, wrists pinned against it, held fast in the hand that was bound to hers.

She felt his breath at the back of her neck, felt a hand between their bodies as he freed himself, felt the heat of his erection poised to enter her.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“Fuck me.”

He pushed into her with savage force, reaching to stroke her when he had penetrated her fully. She produced an inarticulate cry and tilted her hips, rocking back into him, ready to meet his thrusts when he chose to move. For the moment it seemed he was content simply to be inside her, to feel her wrapped around him while his fingers fluttered over her.

His touch was gentle at first, growing firmer as her delighted groans intensified. He shifted his hips almost imperceptibly, barely moving inside her, until she was just at the edge and then one hard thrust in concert with the pressure of his hand to push her over. She was weak with pleasure, grateful for the pillar that supported her as the climax washed over her much like waves breaking on the shore.

She felt his teeth just behind her ear as her orgasm subsided, heard his heavy breaths mingled with her own, and then his harsh growl as he plunged into her again.

“This is what you want, Agent Starling.”

“Oh God, yes!” She was amazed that she could form the words.

His rhythm was slow and measured, his thrusts forceful. She contracted her muscles, gripping him firmly, and felt his sharp teeth nipping at her neck and shoulders as he filled her. Her body shuddered with violent pleasure and his name burst from her lips as he roared his own release, pouring himself into her.

Finally he released her wrists, but remained inside her, the length of his body pressing hers in to the pillar. The cool stone made a delightful contrast to the heat of him behind her. After several minutes, she noted that her breathing had fallen into a slow, steady rhythm with his.

It was a simple leap to apply this recognition to their association in a broader context... at some point along the way, she had unconsciously fallen away from her devotion to the institutional life of the Bureau and aligned herself more closely with Lecter.

What had he told her?

“Some of our stars are the same.” 

More than she had dared to imagine, it seemed. He had never failed to speak the truth to her. It had been true then and was even more so now. Now, quite simply, she was his. The past several hours had bought that into strikingly sharp focus for her.

She fought the urge to speak, to explore this realization with him, taste it’s flavor on her tongue. There would certainly be a time for that, but it was not now. For now she was content to feel him against her, his breath coming in concert with her own. For now it was enough to feel what it meant to come home.


	7. Chapter 7

Epilogue  
It took several weeks for the package to make it’s way to Jack Crawford. It was a small box filled with tissue paper. Tucked in at the top was a postcard... a view of the Duomo from the Forte di Belvedere. He felt a lead weight drop into his stomach as soon as he saw it, and his hands were unsteady as he reached to turn it over. The handwriting was Clarice Starling’s.

The choice was surprisingly easy to make, in large part because of you.

It appears I owe you my thanks.

– Starling

P.S. I would appreciate it if you’d see that Mr. Garrett gets this.

Crawford threw the postcard to the floor as if it had burned him, and sat for a long time trying to force down the nausea that had washed over him. Eventually he reached out, rummaged through the tissue, and withdrew his hand – now tightly clasped around Starling’s badge.

Fin


End file.
